Chapter 511: Warmaster

After Lorgar transmitted news of the Perfect City to Terra, the first to receive the message was not the Emperor Himself.

Instead, it reached Horus, Primarch of the Luna Wolves.

Unlike Lorgar and his Word Bearers—who often found themselves scolded—or Angron and his World Eaters—whom the Emperor regarded as defective but still useful—Horus was highly valued.

He was trusted, relied upon, and had even been appointed to a position second only to the Emperor:

Warmaster.

This title allowed Horus to issue commands with near-Emperor authority when necessary—much like the Imperial heir of ancient eras.

Thus, he often remained on Terra to handle matters the Emperor had no time for.

When he read Lorgar's message, Horus clicked his tongue and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

As the Primarch who had spent the most time with the Emperor, he understood better than anyone just how much his father despised superstition and religious fanaticism.

Under such circumstances, even if Lorgar's intentions were noble, building the Perfect City was almost certainly going to earn him a reprimand — with a 99.9% probability of unpleasant consequences.

It was the definition of a thankless effort.

After considering the matter, Horus decided not to forward the message immediately.

He attempted instead to warn Lorgar about the consequences.

But due to the vast distance between them, psychic communication suffered delays.

Five or six days passed before their back-and-forth concluded.

And when Lorgar's final reply reached him, still firm in his resolve to report the "good news" to the Emperor, Horus sighed helplessly.

He really won't listen…

At that moment, a figure clad in crimson armor, with great white wings on his back, entered the chamber.

Sanguinius, Primarch of the Blood Angels.

He noticed Horus' troubled expression and asked gently:

"What's troubling you?"

Sanguinius radiated a natural and effortless perfection — flawless appearance, serene temperament, a noble aura without arrogance. His presence could evoke shame even in hardened criminals.

Among all Primarchs, he was the most beloved.

During the Warmaster selection, he would almost certainly have won had he not withdrawn out of consideration.

Seeing him, Horus relaxed slightly.

He explained:

"Lorgar and his Word Bearers built a special city called the Perfect City, meant to honor the Emperor. Now they want to present it as a gift."

After listening, even Sanguinius' serene expression flickered with helplessness.

He too knew this could only end poorly.

Their father — the Master of Mankind — despised religion, viewing it as poisonous superstition. A city built upon faith, and in His name, was exactly the sort of thing He hated most.

After thinking a moment, Sanguinius suggested:

"We should try to persuade Lorgar once more…"

Horus shook his head.

"I've tried. He refuses to listen."

Sanguinius exhaled softly.

He was well aware that many of their brothers possessed extreme or inflexible temperaments. Once they committed to something, persuasion became nearly impossible.

Thus he dropped the issue, and instead asked:

"You'll be heading to the front in a few years?"

Though unsure why he asked, Horus nodded.

"Yes. Father intends to return to Terra for an important project, so he wants me to command the Crusade in his place."

Sanguinius looked slightly regretful.

"I've been assigned elsewhere. I had hoped we might fight side by side again."

In their earlier years, many newly recovered Primarchs had learned battlefield command from Horus — Sanguinius included. Their bond was strong.

Horus smiled.

"There will be other chances."

---

A short time later, while reviewing administrative matters, the Emperor finally received the report regarding the Perfect City — and Lorgar's desire for His approval.

In that instant, recalling the Word Bearers' painfully slow Crusade progress and their obsessive, unrelenting devotion, all the displeasure the Emperor had carefully suppressed surged to the surface.

Without hesitation, in cold fury, He issued His command:

"Roboute Guilliman is to lead the Ultramarines to the Perfect City. They are to destroy it entirely. Lorgar Aurelian and every Word Bearer will kneel and confess their sins."

And then, ensuring absolute certainty, He turned to the Captain-General of the Custodes:

"You will take a full regiment of Custodians to support the Ultramarines. Malcador and I shall attend personally."

"By your command."

Horus — who had expected a stern rebuke but not annihilation — inhaled sharply and stepped forward.

"My lord… isn't this punishment too severe?"

He knew the truth of the Perfect City's scale:

It covered nearly the entire surface of Lorgar's homeworld.

Destroying it meant burning an entire planet to ash.

The psychological devastation this would inflict on the Word Bearers — and especially on Lorgar — would be unimaginable.

But the Emperor answered without a moment's doubt:

"I have warned Lorgar many times. The Imperium does not need blind, fanatical worship. He ignored every warning. He must now understand the consequences."

His tone allowed no argument.

Realizing nothing more could be said, Horus lowered his gaze, exhaling softly.

Inside, he felt a quiet sorrow for Lorgar's fate.

He simply could not comprehend:

Why would such devotion merit such a crushing punishment?

Yes, Lorgar's Crusade had been slow —

but even without great achievements, surely his loyalty counted for something…

..

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